


Falling in love, as the world falls down

by ContainThisOrItWillGetGay



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Biting, Closet Nerd Peter Hale Is My Aesthetic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Frottage, Grinding, Happy Ending, Healing, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Hurt/Comfort, I Live Up To My URL With Every Fic, M/M, Marking, Mating Mention, Mental Health Issues, Mild Scott and The Pack Dislike But They're Okay In The End, Nazi Mention Because Apparently That Was A Thing In Season 6, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Reality Loss, Spark Stiles - that was actually a thing Jeff, Stiles POV, The Ghost Riders Arch Gets Gay, The Pack Finally Addresses Some Shitty Behavior, Time Skips, Today We Tell Peter Hales Side Of The Story, Violence, death mentions, mostly plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 04:37:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15429180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContainThisOrItWillGetGay/pseuds/ContainThisOrItWillGetGay
Summary: “The Wild Hunt is an unstoppable force of nature, it’s existed long before us and it’ll go long after. It’s taken uncountable amount of lives and we are riding the storm on a timeless station awaiting whatever comes after, and you think we can get out.”Stiles shrugs a little, because, no - he’s not really sure they can.





	Falling in love, as the world falls down

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote 14.5k less than 30 hours but you know what? It turns out re-watching Teen Wolf can fuel a man with the spite of 1000 writers.
> 
> This Fic is a huge thank you to Clove. An enabler and amazing friend who re-introduced me to my love of this ship and dealt with my constant and very persistent writer insecurities lmao
> 
> This is a Canon Divergent Fic, whilst a lot of canon elements from season 6 it obviously doesn't follow the line flawlessly. Please note there is mental health elements including panic attacks, time lapses and talk of memory loss. So, please be safe okay? 
> 
> I couldn't remember Stiles' canon age in this arch but yeah he's 18 in this Fic because I mean... TW Timelines *canned laughter* 
> 
> Okay, I think that's all the warnings this needs? Oh! Guns are mentioned too, so please again, be careful. 
> 
> Unebeta'd right now, whilst I find a Beta! There shouldn't be many mistakes but there may be so sorry in advance.
> 
> I'm also taking Steter requests on Tumblr! [Here](https://containthisoritwillgetgay.tumblr.com)
> 
> Alright, I am done rambling now. Let me know if I've missed anything needing tagging! Enjoy~

_Forgotten_.

Stiles stared numbly at his hands as the word bounced about his head. Erased entirely, everyone he loved and everything he loved existing more than happy without him.

Forgotten, just like so many other people, stuck here in some fucking train station, and no help was coming because no one even knew help was needed.

Stiles’ hand throbs as he pulls it back from the brick wall, sneering at the guy who tells him to shut up a few benches down. Not broken, just grazed and aching.

It was a hopeless crappy place, this, drabs of grey on the walls - really? Senseless purgatory just had to fit the Aesthetic, at this point he’s not even _surprised_ \- not a spark of life in the place because everyone had settled to wait an eternity for death.

Did death even come in the space between time when the Wild Hunt finds your ass and the Ghost Riders lock the door behind you?

Walking the station he doesn’t expect to stumble on a familiar face. Well, that's kind of fair since half the familiar faces aren’t marked for the hunt and the other half are dead but, damn he’ll take what he can get, even if it is Peter Hale.

Admittedly he less stumbles on him as much as Peter drags him out of the way of a charging Ghost Rider leaving the station, but then Stiles would have to admit that Peter Hale just saved his life, and that would require a why or an IOU, and he sure as hell isn’t about to owe Peter shit.

Peter looks at him with a fleeting surprise that’s quickly shut off, but not quickly enough.

The first hello is more of a fight. Actually, it kind of is a fight. Peter seems to forget so quickly about “not” dragging him away, about the Riders, about everything and Stiles has to mentally slap the dumb wolf for a second to get him back on track.

Maybe the Eichen reminder was a little bit harsh, but hell, Stiles is stuck in some soul sucking train station with only Peter Hale for company - harsh isn’t his problem right now.

Apparently the big bad sociopath is mildly offended at being forgotten and not all that eager to help when Stiles demands a way out. It’s almost _funny_ , the way Peter snarls at him, the way he’s annoyed when Stiles doesn’t flinch.

“Yeah big guy, your cute little fangs aren’t so scary when the only other option is absolute isolation. Suck it up.”

“Isolation would be a delight if it meant I needn’t hear your incessant chatter for the rest of eternity.”

Peter turned his back on him then, looking about the station with a cold sort of dismissal, and it’s _Stiles’_ turn to be offended.

\---

The second attempt goes a little better. Oh he sure as hell tried a few other people in this landscape of colour-allergy, but everyone is surprisingly cliquey and half locked in their own head. It’s like highschool 2.0… but with more hopelessness.

Never thought he’d say there’d be somewhere with more hopelessness, but there’s that.

People can’t even remember getting here, they’re just waiting and waiting and Stiles? Stiles is half afraid of whatever they’re waiting for.

He wants out, and his one ticket to it is acting like an asshole.

Good old Stilinski luck.

At least this time when Stiles slides up next to him on the bench Peter isn’t all fangs and growls, instead he turns the page in the newspaper that stiles _knows_ he’s already read - Stiles takes a moment to wonder where he got it - and gives Stiles the cold shoulder.

God what a dick.

“So…. Buddy, dude, ex-alpha of my heart-”

A deepening frown has Stiles closing his mouth on another option, huffing a little. Yeah okay, maybe something a little less telling. Seriousness was needed here, he could do seriousness. Hell, he had the time to practice - they were locked in here for life if they didn’t find a way out.

“So, we’re stuck here-”

“An astute observation.”

Stiles elects to ignore the dry snark.

“-and you’re the only other not memory high and or brain scrambled person here so, I need your help. You gotta work with me dude, be my temp player two. We need to get home, I gotta get back to my dad and you need to get back to…. Your corpses that need hiding? Your fashion sketches? Malia? Maybe, uh so - yeah, what do you say?”

Peter turns the page in his newspaper with a suspicious sort of snap and Stiles knows this is a battle lost.

“My Corpses are kept in the freezer, actually, I have plenty of time.”

Alright, maybe he deserved that one.

\---

Round four he’s a little nicer. Round three had been interrupted by the riders diving in and dropping another soul off - ever the thoughtful giftees - so _this_ time, this time Stiles is a little more ready to play nice.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed. But he knows he needs to move it, his mind is starting to feel heavy with the silence around him, and the more he looks at the empty faces and quiet tutters over train arrivals the more he feels like he’s suffocating. He needs someone sane, he needs someone to talk too, he needs to _not be alone._

So this time he goes with his hands held up for peace, and doesn’t even bother trying to suck up. Not that he would suck Peter, that was - wow, isolation does mess with you.

No, this time he just asks. Because there’s no time for pride in a place where time is endless.

“We need to go home, I need your help Peter, and you need mine. Just come on, please at least give me something?”

Peter looks at him for what feels like a cringe worthy amount of time, assessing, dragging his eyes over Stiles with a pursed lips. Stiles half feels like he’s being x-rayed, like he’s being tested and his back straightens a little out of instinct, staring stubbornly right back.

He needed to get back, and murder wolf would be helping even if Stiles had to drag him by his tail to do it.

“The Wild Hunt is an unstoppable force of nature, it’s existed long before us and it’ll go long after. It’s taken uncountable amount of lives and we are riding the storm on a timeless station awaiting whatever comes after, and you think we can get out.”

Stiles shrugs a little, because no - he’s not really sure they can. But he isn’t about to die or… turn into some gun slinging zombie dude without saying goodbye to his dad either. So he’s going to try.

“Probably not, but hey with my brains and your-”

Peter cocks an eyebrow, but there’s an amused turn to his lips that makes Stiles fumble. Asshole likes throwing him off with his stupid face and cocky everything.

“-stubborn ego, I’m sure we can figure out at least some way to annoy them so badly they kick us out.”

Peter closes the paper slowly at that and Stiles gives a nod of determination. They’d figure it out.

They had to.

“Why don’t we start with looking around and seeing if we find anything.”

“Do you think they mark the exit sign in the event of a fire?”

Peter snorts, and Stiles shoulders drop in relief as the wolf pushes to stand. There was no shame in wondering, but they both knew it wouldn’t be that easy. At least with Peter here, Stiles could stop feeling like the walls were closing in, and like the shadows were whispering.

It was a bitter sort of twist, knowing he was relying on _Peter Hale_ of all people. But he was helping, Stiles had won him over, at least for now. And for now he’d happily have a killer on his side when facing weird undead cowboys.

“Let’s start with platform one. And Stiles?”

He glances to the wolf as they fall in line, making their way to the back of the station.

“Try not to forget anything.”

\---

The first search turns up nothing. Zero, zip, zilch - absolutely fucking nothing, and Peter grabs his hands as Stiles grabs his hair in frustration, all but snarling at the stupid, barren platform.

“We didn’t expect it to be easy.”

Stupid wolf, calmer than he had any right to be. But then, it’s not like he had anything to rush home to, and Stiles throws his hands off of his wrists, twisting his own fingers as he paces.

“We need to start on platform two.”

Stiles marches determinedly for the pillars, but hands catch him again, and _what is with the touching?_

“You’re swaying, whatever this place is, the minute you start fighting, your body is running on fumes. You need sleep. We both need real rest, or we’re going to slip right back like them.”

Stiles’ jaw clenched as he shoves the wolf’s hands from his hips, but damn him he’s right. He’s _right_ \- and Stiles feels like he’s pulled four all-nighters studying AP maths with no breaks, he’s fried and as he looks down at his hands. They’re shaking.

How long have they been here? Forgotten as the world passes around them. How did he even know Peter was real? His mind had worked up lies before, he couldn’t trust his own head and the echoing silence -

“Give me your hand.”

Stiles croaks the words, and Peter raises both eyebrows, but blue eyes study him annoyingly closely, and the wolf does so - lifting his hand, spreading his fingers open for Stiles to grip, to trace the rough lines of them, breathing out as Stiles counts.

Five. Five, normal, rough fingers and when he presses to the pads of them Peter dutifully unsheathes his claws. Wolf. Normal, alive, solid, five fingered, clawed, wolfy Peter Hale.

“Happy?”

The word is slow, questioning, and Stiles doesn’t like the way it sounds like Peter is figuring something out, dropping the hand in his with a snap of his teeth at the wolf.

“Just checking you weren’t in Werewolf Murder Mode, buddy. Good to see you’re still you.”

Peter rumbles in his chest in answer folding his arms and cocking his head back to the silent help desk.

“ _Unless_ you’d like to give a thorough search of all of me, I suggest we hole up in there for a while.”

Stiles is really starting to dislike the haughty tone of dismissal but damn if he can’t help but appreciate the smooth level of sass the Hale has going. He just glares at the werewolf, tries to shake off the prick of anxiety at the back of his mind. They’d get out. Peter, if anything, is a survivor, and Stiles wasn’t going without a fight either.

They would get out.

\---

The first night is spent on opposite ends of the room, snarking at each other, or otherwise in stony silence as the ever-annoying patter of mindless station goers echo outside the door. Peter had snapped the lock on the room with his wolfy muscles, and Stiles had thrown his jacket down to settle on it, tucking his knees against his chest.

He missed his dad, he missed the buzz of people and the sound of nightlife. He missed talking, he missed curly fries.

And Stiles tries not to think how they’re all out there enjoying it without any knowledge that he ever existed.

\---

They haven’t spoken in a little while, and Stiles wraps his arms around his legs and grits his teeth to stop from spilling into the void of nothingness. He needed normal, he needed noise, he needed something.

“Why?”

The word leaves him in a clipped rush, and Peter’s head turns slowly to look at him, gaze sharp and waiting. Peter always managed to look put together, even in a train station cloud hurtling to an eternity of grey emptiness.

“That’s a broad question, the answer is usually because I can.”

Stiles huffs at that, giving Peter a withering but unimpressed look. They could die here, or un-die, whatever. He hadn’t been hungry in how ever long they’re been hurtling through lightening - a wild thought - and he was uncomfortable in the knowledge that this could be the rest of his life.

Might as well ask some of the questions he’s been burning with since day one.

“No asshole, why did you turn Scott?”

He’d asked it once before he thinks, maybe. Years ago when he was young and thought that running with werewolves would be an adventure. It turned into a nightmare and it’s never ending.

Stiles looks to Peter in wait, and the wolf seems to be debating his answer.

“Come on big guy, we might be stuck together forever, might as well get a little less - “ a vague gesture between them “-hatey.”

Peter mulls that over, but Stiles figures hey it can’t hurt at least. He’d get some questions answered, and the buzzing silence would slip away to the sound of Peter’s admittedly not that horrible voice.

“I needed a pack.” Peters head drops back with a low sigh, and Stiles refrains from saying _well duh,_ instead waiting for him to elaborate. He has the feeling that if Peter Hale got going, nothing was going to stop him, and Stiles was dying to know

“You don’t understand, for a wolf it isn’t a matter of want. Everything in you drives desperately for a pack. It’s like a silence in your head that's louder than any crowd, and until you get one you can’t settle in your skin. You _need_ a pack, and when you’re feral you’ll go for whatever appeals.”

“So Scott appealed to you.”

Stiles frowns a little at that, he loved Scotty, truly he did - he was his best brother - but looking back, Stiles was trying to figure out what the hell appealed to Peter about an asthmatic dumbass stumbling about the woods.

Scotty didn't even put on deodorant before they left, he can’t have seemed like a five star meal right?

“ _Scott_ didn’t appeal to me, he just got in the way of what did.”

 _What_.

Stiles stares, dumb struck, as Peter shifts to close his eyes, an amused smile on his lips and the asshole knew - he knew that Stiles needed to know more, that cryptic dickhead was just loving lording it over him.

Because if Peter was out in that woods and Scott got in the way then what appealed to the feral Alpha monster of Beacon Hills…

Was him.

\---

“So, why did _I_ appeal to you?”

Peter sighed from where he was scouting platform two, merely steps away from Stiles, dragging his hands over the wall with a small smirk - clearly enjoying Stiles internal crisis in knowing he was why Peter had gone for Scott.

“This is the third time you’ve asked that since waking.”

“Well if you _answered_ the question I wouldn’t have to keep asking, dude.”

Peter hums a little, but stays infuriatingly silent, radiating a smug aura like a cat with cream, which was a hilarious analogy to give a werewolf.

“Come on, was it my voice? My delicious scent? You like some Eau du Stilinski? Do I smell like fresh curly fries or something? Hey do you like curly fries? Nah you’re a five star stuck-up kind of guy I bet. Sparkling jewels, draped back on your lounge chair and sipping martinis whilst the guys run about you with caviar-”

Peter laughs low at that and Stiles pauses at the sound. The non threatening, real, _genuinely amused sound._

Can - can Peter even make non-sarcastic sounds?

Holy shit.

“Did you just find me funny?”

Stiles tries not to sound as incredulous as he does, and Peter turns his head the other way, scenting the air when Stiles knows there’s nothing new about. He’s not getting out of it that easily.

“You did! You did find me funny. Oh my God! Is there a sense of humour hiding deep under the line of your V-neck?”

Peter just smirks as he passes Stiles, and Stiles turns back to the brick wall under his hand with a slight grin.

“There’s nothing under my V-neck, actually. You can check if so inclined.”

Stiles jumps half a mile at the voice by his ear, flailing to turn, and Peter is already working on the other wall - leaving Stiles to stare after him and wonder if the wolf was going mad. Maybe they were both going mad. This place does that to you.

“And I don’t like caviar.”

Noted. _Weird_ and noted.

\----

“You smelt right.”

The words are so loud in the silence of their little room. Platform two was being split into two searches, bigger than platform one - and they only got bigger. This wouldn’t be quick, and Stiles was fighting the building despair.

“What?”

He glances up to Peter from where he’s fiddling with dust coated knick knacks on the desk. There’s an old ass radio in here, but it doesn’t seem to work. Maybe if the search fails, they can try and make it work.

“I was hunting you because you smelt right.”

Stiles blinks, blinks again, places down the dusty pen and looks over his shoulder to the wolf lazing on the floor.

“You smelt like energy, _power_. You were a crackle of light in the dark woods, and my wolf wanted that power beside me. I was heading for you when you both scrambled, and Scott ran right for me. I bit on instinct, and then I had to leave.”

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, but the words are squeezed down in his throat, his heart hammering inside his ears. He smelt like power. What does that even mean? He isn’t powerful, he is the weakest member of the pack.

“I don’t remember much of it you know. You all like to play as though I wasn’t half drugged, under the influence of an ex-emissary, and reeling from the trauma of being burnt alive, but oddly all of that leaves one a little _unsettled_.”

Yeah, Stiles thinks, it probably would.

“I remember mere moments of my time between the hospital and dying. It’s … a dark thing. Not being able to remember your own movements.”

Stiles swallows hard at that, and for a moment an invisible hand squeezes at his chest. Your body walking around whilst you’re trapped in your own head, you can’t stop, you can’t fight, and you don’t know what's you and what's them. With only people’s words to inform you and hoping you can trust them enough to believe it -

He drags in a sharp breath and fights the flash of fireflies behind his eyelids.

“Yeah. It’s not fun.”

The words are hoarse and Peter hums, shifting to turn his face into his arm and away from Stiles, leaving the human staring at him and wondering when the hell he started empathizing with Peter Hale.

\---

The more Stiles thinks about it, the more it freaks him out.

Has anyone even _asked_ Peter? Has anyone even asked Peter what that time was like? Derek hasn’t mentioned ever visiting his uncle, and an emissary - there wasn’t... Stiles doesn’t remember any talk of an emissary.

He has questions. And as two more sessions of sleep pass in relative, but less angry, quiet Stiles shifts a little across the floor, seeking some form of warmth.

When is the last time any of them has asked Peter’s side?

He shouldn’t care about Peter's side, right? The guy killed people.

They’ve all killed people though. Really.

“Did Derek ever visit you? You know, during - like, did anyone?”

The words are muffled by his arm, and Stiles is avoiding looking at him now, staring at the unmoving lined of his plaid sleeve and wondering if Peter would even answer. He wouldn’t blame the guy if he didn’t, less hatey didn’t mean it is full personal life story time.

But then, maybe the story would die between the two them anyway.

“In the hospital, you mean. You can say it. Did any of my family visit me as I sat comatose with multiple burns across my body and drugs running through my system, because I tried to drag the people I loved from a burning home?”

Stiles winces at that, but he probably shouldn’t have expected Peter not to be blunt about it. Guy probably is expecting Stiles to argue, or get pissy and tell him he is wrong. But Stiles is - Stiles is curious, and … he wants to know.

“ _No_. Derek and Laura escaped the fire, I was pulled out by the fire department, clutching the body of my niece and they took me to the hospital and left me there whilst they ran away. They got to run away, and I got to enjoy the ever lovely reruns that the hospital plays each day.”

Stiles presses his chin a little harder into his arm, drums his fingers against the soft fabric of his hoodie and as silence falls again Stiles mumbles a cautious -

“And the emissary?”

Peter sighs at that, and when Stiles risks a glance the wolf is dragging a hand over his face.

He almost looks upset.

 _Almost_. Peter Hale doesn’t do upset. Right? That's gotta be against the natural world order.

But then, the natural world order doesn’t really matter here.

“She was training under Deaton, her name was Sarah. When he resigned after my sister’s death, Sarah was left in charge of me and the land. Sarah would ensure the Argents didn’t find me by acting as my personal nurse whilst Derek and Laura were gone. She would see to it that I was healed. Her magic is what allowed me to take the Alpha Spark, I don’t know anything more, other than that she cared for me when they left me behind and now she’s dead.”

Stiles presses his lips together, and for a wild moment there’s a hit of sympathy through his chest. He’d fought the Argents for so long thinking about what Derek and his sister had lost that… he kind of forgot Peter was a Hale too.

Stiles wiggles a little closer, and they don’t mention that Peter leans into the warmth against his arm.

This place is getting to them.

\----

Stiles wakes from a nightmare.

Jolting up with a scream that bounces off the empty halls, hands clawing at his skin, trembling as he tries to carve the demon out from underneath his skin and he’s fighting, fighting the hold on him, lashing out, his fist connecting with something solid.

Something solid, something real.

 _Peter_.

He breathes hard as he blinks, trembling as the wolf holds on despite Stiles’ thrashing. Finally registering the low voice at his ear.

_“Come on now, come on back. It’s alright.”_

Peter Hale is comforting him after a nightmare, and that is it - that is his life, Stiles is clinging to the guy who’d been the subject of nightmares himself, and pressing his face into Peter’s throat as he sobs his way back to reality.

Peter would have to die though, just so he couldn’t use this against him.

The thought is a half-hearted, exhausted one. Stiles doesn’t even know if he means it anymore.

“Are you back with me?”

Stiles swallows at the question, still shaking, but able to drag some air into his lungs and still Peter sits, patient, quiet, letting him snot and claw at his chest.

Stiles can’t believe he’s breathing again. It aches, and he can’t sit still but he can _breathe_.

He usually only calms down with his dad.

Stilinski hugs, you know, they have a special power. That’s what his mum would say. It is stupid to believe it but maybe he does, and yet here he is hiccuping and rubbing his face against Peter’s chest as arms tighten around him.

He really is losing it. Peter should be killing him for touching his precious clothes like that.

“I’m uh - I’m good.”

The words are choked on a ragged breath, and Peter pulls back, leaving Stiles to notice the cold against his spine as Peter’s hand stops rubbing gently over him.

What the actual fuck is happening.

“You - have one hell of a right hook, Stiles.”

The words are a drawl, and Stiles’ head snaps up to watch, a little horrified as Peter snaps his nose back into place, his body healing quickly as he wipes blood from his skin. Stiles punched Peter Hale in the face and _lived_.

“Yeah I - I’ve been working out.”

The words are numb, and he closes his eyes for a second, trying to search for the sounds of a clock - anything to count, something to show him he was real, that they were real, and a warm hand curls in his, Stiles fumbling to grip at long fingers.

One, two, three, four, five. Claws. Five and Claws. Real Peter, real Stiles.

The Quiet is suffocating, and when Peter stands Stiles scrambles up with him.

“Shall we start on platform three?”

Stiles nods, pulling on the jacket around his waist, so obviously having fallen in his fighting, too frantic for a distraction to notice that this wasn’t his. Too big - too expensive. He follows after Peter with the weight around him, determined to find a way out.

\----

“I can’t believe you know all the words to the Macarena!”

Stiles laughs a little hysterically as he presses at bricks on the wall. Peter Hale, prime werewolf stud and murder mastermind of Beacon Hills, knew every word of the Macarena.

“You did dare me to sing it. It’s not my fault you underestimate my capabilities.”

And that is crazy, kinda. That Peter is playing along, that when Stiles gives him a dare or asks for a dare, it happens. And for a moment they are _playing_. Stiles has already done his best chewbacca roar, and Peter has threatened to kill him if it ever got out, before doing his best howl.

It is… Stiles doesn’t know what to call it. Kind of fun.

Okay, a lot of fun. Peter does a pretty good Darth Vader voice.

Part of him still screams that Peter even knows what Star Wars _is_.

“But the _Macarena_ , Peter.”

“Unlike my darling Nephew I do keep up with both trends and hypes. It makes a wonderful party entertainment, and mildly concerns annoying colleagues. I think it works well.”

“Annoying col- do you even work?”

Stiles squints at the wolf upturning a bench. Peter Hale, working. What a weird ass idea.

“Of course not. No, I’m an investor, Stiles. Most of the business around Beacon Hills are under my influence and I’m particularly sought after for it. Which requires parties, meetings and a public image, which you all almost ruined with your little Eichen stunt, might I add.”

“Hey! You’re the asshole that ran off with Kate Argent and tried to murder Scotty, that’s on you.”

The bench hits the floor with a bang, and Stiles barely has time to think before Peter is backing him up, and the entire air around them changes.

He’s hit a nerve.

A very, very _pissed_ _off_ nerve.

“I worked with Kate for information which I then attempted to hand over and you- you spoilt, ridiculous children truly thought that I would work with the woman who _slaughtered_ my family and left me mindless in a hospital, half dead with nothing.”

Stiles breathing picks up when Peter’s claws curl at his chest but he’s not … he’s not afraid. He should be, come on body keep the hell up there is an angry werewolf at your ass! Up the ante! Show a sense of will to live!

But he’s not afraid.

He’s confused.

“ _Information_? You never tried to give us information!”

“Yes I did. I sent multiple requests for you all to talk to me, who do you think left the clues? You all see the world in such lovely black and white that you think after months of helping I’d run off to _Kate Argent_.”

Stiles jerks at the snarl of her name, but holds his ground, glaring at Peter with something new in sight - something weird.

Because Peter Hale isn’t a monster.

And Stiles is fucking reeling at the very idea.

“Help? You call stalking Derek’s apartment and giving half-assed comments _help_?”

“And the _Nogitusne_? You’re absolutely right Stiles, as I helped drag you from the grips of an ever affectionate demonic fox? Or when I, not Derek but I, got the information on Jackson? Each little line, each little action, every time I risked my life to fight with each of you? You’re right - I never helped. I was just some lingering nightmare you all kept asking to die.”

Stiles drops back against the wall as Peter stalks away from him with a flash of fangs, staring at the darkness he vanishes into as the sound of their room door slams shut.

_I was just some lingering nightmare you all kept asking to die._

Holy Fuck.

\----

Stiles isn’t sure how long he paces, shaking out his hands, chewing his inner cheek and thinking. Thinking long and thinking hard.

Peter isn’t innocent. He _isn’t_ , he’d done bad things, he’s done questionable shit. But they’ve all done bad things. Hell, Derek got a bunch of innocent kids killed, Scott almost got them all killed multiple times, even Allison when she - they’d all done bad things.

Stiles has killed people - well, his body has. And Stiles has let himself get possessed, Stiles has hunted and threatened and been just as vicious as any wolf. He isn’t innocent, Peter isn’t innocent, but that doesn’t mean Peter has to be bad, and maybe deep down Stiles’d known that.

He’s never tried all that hard to get Peter to go, but he hasn’t tried to befriend him either. None of them has. The pack has banded tight as they all did dumb stuff.

But they at least have each other.

And Peter has spent it all with nothing and no one. Peter has come back and done nothing but hang around with Derek like some creepy uncle -

Derek. His _family_.

The only family he has left.

Stiles rubs over his face, pulls his hair and paces a little more.

Peter helped, he hated to admit but - he _did_. And sure, maybe he’d done it for his own reasons but it’s not like any of them has done anything to earn Peter’s loyalty. Not like any of them has any right to demand it.

And they all have their own reasons. Really. Half of them don’t even like each other - it is a horrific mismatch of frantic loyalty in a crap situation where there isn’t another choice. It’s not like Peter has to stay, with his families money and his “investments”.

_Peter could have left._

Peter could have left and started over, and he stayed. And he helped. And he’s had no one as he did it.

Stiles drops his head against brick and debates for a small moment if it counts as Stockholm syndrome when you’re both the hostages. But, no. It’s just that for once the monster gets to tell the story, and Stiles is realising that what they thought was the monster is someone just like them

And they happily asked when he’d die, if they could just let him die already. Repeatedly. Derek had looked at his uncle, after abandoning him, after a fire he caused and told him he hated him. Scott had taken Peters help but spat on him as he did and Stiles?

Stiles had agreed. He’d let them. He’d - hell, he encourages it sometimes. And though he enjoys Peters sass and snark - and sure he kind of has a little bit of fun whenever they talk - he hasn’t been _friendly_ either.

And right here, with no pack loyalty to force his choice and no betrayal needed - where Peter could look on his own and pretend Stiles doesn’t exist - Peter has chosen to _comfort him._

Peter has let Stiles bug him for what could be weeks, and when Stiles is vulnerable he hasn’t done anything else but hold him and let him calm down.

Stiles pushes up from the brick wall and makes his way to the door with a new kind of determination. Because if Peter isn’t some big nightmare, and he really doesn’t remember what he’d done after the fire - then Peter is like Stiles.

And if Stiles has gone this long in the station without comfort, then Peter has gone _years_.

He shoves open the door, unable to believe that this is where his life has led to, dismissing Peter’s snarl of warning - scary wolf isn’t so scary when the light turns on and it’s just some pup trembling for a gentle hand, that’s for damn sure - dropping right into Peter's lap. He’s trying hard not to think about that bit, wrapping his arms around Peter’s shoulders and pressing in tight.

Peter held him after a nightmare, he helped Stiles feel half safe in what might as well be purgatory and hell if he wouldn’t be getting a patented Stilinski healing hug right back.

That’s that, _welcome to the pack, sarcasm wolf._

Peter was a manipulative asshole who’d done shady things in the underbelly of Beacon Hills messed up supernatural world. But Stiles had played the game too. And if people ever thought Stiles was worth saving, if they remembered him in the end - if his dad fought to save him and if scott ever pulled his head out of his ass and saved him, then they could sure as hell save Peter alongside of him.

Because Stiles isn’t going to forget him, not after this.

The wolf is stiff against him, and there are claws at his hips and a growl in his chest, but Stiles gleefully notes that Peter hasn’t attacked, hasn’t thrown him off and isn’t actively trying to stop him.

_Your cover is blown, little wolf, I know your secret. You’re just as afraid as I am._

\----

Things change after that.

They’d fallen asleep - or at least Stiles had - with him clinging to the grumpy wolf like some sort of mildly aggressive koala. But, as it always did, the Stilinski hug had broken the wall.

And Peter smiled. Sure, it was still a dick kind of smile and he didn’t hold back from the laid back insults of Stiles being needy, but it was bigger than any Stiles had ever seen and when he finally went to climb off of him with a cramp in his thigh and a smug smirk on his lips - Peters grip had tightened for a second, like he wanted to hold on.

So yeah, things changed after that and Stiles nudged Peter as they walked to platform three to carry on, and Peter didn’t tell him to shut up when Stiles belted whatever song came to mind as they worked.

He heard him hum along to the A Pirate's Life For Me and he made a mental note of that too. What kind of twisted little nerd hid under the suave, ridiculously expensive exterior? He didn’t know, but he was going to dig him out.

Platform four held nothing, and despite games and songs and terrible Harry Potter trivia - they were getting nowhere fast.

Stiles collapses down next to Peter, and wonders how long they’ve been there now. How long people had lived without them.

\---

“Why do you continue to follow him?”

Stiles blinks at the question, lent against Peters shoulder, sketching boredly on a now dust free pad with a now dust free pen.

“Follow who? Is this like some political question? Because I’m pretty behind on current world politics-”

“I mean _Scott_ , Stiles. Don’t play coy.”

The scratch of the pen stops, and Stiles looks down at the half formed wolf on the page.

Why did he follow Scott? Scott McCall, his best friend since childhood? His brother in arms, his player two? His zombie apocalypse plan?

“He’s my best friend, dude.”

Stiles presses the pen to paper because that’s enough of an answer, right? Yeah, that’s plenty. And most people would happily accept it because it made sense.

“Is he?”

Stiles frowns at that, drumming the pen to paper and sighing.

“You got something to say then say it big bad, we have eternity here and I don’t want to spend it playing guess-the-punchline.”

Peter gives a huff of a laugh - he does that now, and no, Stiles hasn’t gotten used to it. Peter Hale can laugh, that’s one for the conspiracy theorists.

‘The punchline, is my _genuine_ curiosity as to why you bother to fight so terribly for a pack that won’t admit it needs you. And throws you aside the moment they find someone else.’

Stiles grip tightens on his pen, prickling at the question. They did appreciate him, they - they, _Lydia_ knew he was smart. They just got caught up in their own thing, and hey, he couldn’t blame them.

“Don’t defend them. I’m not blind, Stiles, I’ve seen how they talk to you. I’ve seen the way Scott chases tail more than your safety and as I recall you get told to shut up almost as much as I do.”

Stiles grips the pen a little tighter, digs the nip into paper and tries to ignore the whispering in his head.

They were just busy, Stiles could take care of himself.

“Why do you follow him, when you deserve so much better?”

Stiles snaps the pen down so hard it dents a hole through several pages, hissing in his anger, recoiling from the warmth of Peters arm.

“Don’t try and turn me on my pack.”

“I’m not.”

The words have Stiles scoffing as he moves right the way across, leaning against a dusty filing cabinet instead, trying to ignore the way Peter was watching him in quiet contemplation.

Stupid, pretty blue x-ray eyes of death. Peter saw far too much for his liking.

“You don’t need to answer.”

Peter leans back against the wall, lashes fanning over his cheeks and Stiles glares at him before turning back to the page, scratching at paper for a long moment, deep lines across the wolfs face.

“I love Scott. I love my Dad. I love my pack.”

Peter hums for a moment, but doesn’t argue with him and Stiles hates that more, spitefully scratching out the eyes of the wolf. Too blue, too familiar.

_“I do.”_

“I didn’t argue.”

He bites his tongue at that, tastes iron in his mouth and swallows, but still the anger bubbles in his chest. So many words unsaid, so many things thought - so much anger he couldn’t fucking let out at home but what does it matter here? They only had one platform left and the prospect of getting out was smaller and smaller.

What does he matter if he said it?

It would all be forgotten anyway.

“Scott’s a good guy okay? He is, he - he has a big heart, a gold heart.”

Peter’s lips twitch and Stiles tosses the book aside.

“But he also has a brain half the fucking size and never uses it!”

Blue eyes turn to him then but fuck those eyes, stupid wolf - Stiles had things to say and if he wanted to hear it he would because he was on a roll now, it was coming, it was spilling out of him and no Ghost Rider and Wild Hunt bursting in would stop him, hands cutting through air as he goes.

“He’s a good guy who’s led by his dick. He doesn’t get it! He doesn’t see - he doesn’t see reality. He thinks he can prance around with a flower crown in his hair and save everyone but that's not how it works. It’s us or them, it’s always been us or them and him and Derek are so quickly taking by long eyelashes that they’re going to get us all killed!”

Peter opens his mouth, but Stiles cuts him off with a sharp breath and plows right on because no - no, he never gets to talk like this, no one ever listens so Peter can listen. For once, just once - _someone can listen to him._

“I was right every time! Every. Time. He couldn’t even muster up an I’m sorry, a Thank You? Fuck no! Not from the mighty and lawful Scott McCall. He didn’t even notice when Argent took me. Do you know how many times he tells me he doesn’t need me or to shut up or just point blank doesn’t turn up? He doesn’t even know who fucking Spock is. He doesn’t care about anything I’m into and he hasn’t, not since he became Mr Lacrosse, not since he grew muscles the size of his asshole and not since he didn’t need me anymore! He looked at me, he looked at me after I came back on my own and he could see and he didn’t even bat an eye but it’s okay because hey, at least his fuck of the week is okay!”

Peter covers up a sound like a snort then, and Stiles gives a look that’s withering, and it’s like all the energy goes from him then, all the anger and all that’s left is him breathing hard, and his throat clicking as he swallows.

“The pack don’t care about me, they care about surviving. Lydia only wants me around to make her feel good, Malia only wants me because i’m all she knows, Derek puts up with me to spite Scott and the others like me because I’m Scotts buddy. None of us would have come together if people could keep their fangs to themselves. And everyone knows it.”

The dampness in his eyes takes him by surprise and he quickly turns his head away from Peter, anger and the shame in his chest.

“I love Scott. He’s my _best friend._ But sometimes I think he doesn’t even know who I am anymore.”

Stiles rubs his palms into his eyes and when he drops them Peter is looking to him with a tilt of his head.

He looks like a puppy.

Stiles resists saying it.

“Do you follow Scott because he’s your best friend? Or because you’re chasing the memory of him.”

Stiles huffs, pulls his hoodie over his head and presses his face into Peter's arm, wondering when the hell the wolf moved closer.

“You sound like a bad Dr Phil episode.”

\----

Platform five turns up nothing, and he and Peter stand side by side in silence as they face the wall. They’d tried the doors, and all that happened was walking back onto the platform in a dizzying blink.

There was nothing.

Stiles’ chest is tight and head spinning and _there was no way out._

“We - retry the doors, we can re look - maybe we missed something.”

“Stiles. We didn’t miss anything on the platforms.”

Stiles chews at his thumb, looking to Peter before squaring his shoulders. The wolf looked so quiet, the sounds of the laughter fading.

No more songs to sing, no more dares to play. They were running out of options, and they needed a way back, or they’d be stuck here forever.

Forgotten, until they forgot each other too.

He fumbles to reach besides him, curling his hand in Peters, gripping tight. Real, they were real, and as Peter squeezes back Stiles focuses on sinking their breathing. They’d get out, they had too.

They just needed to relook.

\---

They get back to the room in silence and Stiles looks around it.

He hadn’t even noticed how much it had changed. Layers of dust cleared away, the stark red of his hoodie and black of his jacket, the deep blue of Peters coat and the blue and red of the two office pens -

Colour, their colour, the only colour in the stupid dull, grey world of forever.

Stiles hated train stations.

But he loved this room.

And that's a thought he’s not going to look at until way, way, _way_ later.

“We should rest.”

Stiles nods a little and Peters hand slips a little from his, but in a mild panic he grips tighter, the wolf beside him stiffening for just a second.

And then Peter links their fingers together, and the palm against Stiles’ is warm, solid, _real_.

They’re real. The two of them. The only real thing left was each other.

Stiles shifts closer to Peters side, looks out at the people ambling around the station or just sat, unmoving, already long since dead inside.

Peter pulls down the blinds, Stiles blocks the door and they pile their clothes to the floor, moving silently together, curling up on it.

Peter didn’t strike him as a cuddler, but Stiles figures they’ve both surprised each other a little bit in this time. And he figures they have a long while to keep doing it.

\---

“What _is_ your favourite character?”

Stiles frowns a little at the question, rolling form where they were laying on the floor, draping his arm over Peter’s waist and sighing. What a weird ass question, they’d just signed up for an eternity in a station and now Peter wanted to know?

He studies a sharp jaw, tired eyes, an expectant expression.

Well. They did have the time to waste, and hell, maybe he’d learn something fun.

“I used to say it was batman, he was so cool with his tech and everything but DC kind of ruined that for us all.” Peter makes a noise of disappointed agreement and they share a look of knowing. “I think… I’d probably say spiderman.”

“Why?”

“Well, a kid thrust into a world he doesn’t get, scrambling to survive and know his powers. Probably a bit more relatable than a rich guy in a suit, huh?”

“Likely so.”

“That and i would totally fuck Deadpool too.”

Peter laughs at that, chest moving under Stiles hand and he hides his smile against a stupidly expensive shirt, it felt nice though. The fabric, guess that was high end stuff for you.

Still, ridiculously low and cute laughs aside - he’d dismiss that thought for now, thank you crazy station mind - this didn’t explain how Peter Hale, prowler of the dark, biter of teens, not-so-scary-nightmare of Stiles’ life knew about this sort of important, and vital business.

“How do you even know comics and stuff anyway?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t always the incredibly flawless and charming man I am now.”

“Are you admitting to being a _nerd_?”

Peter purses his lips as Stiles fakes the scandal, clutching his hands to his chest and dropping back beside him - slain by the very idea. Peter nudges at him, adjusting the jacket under his head before his expression turns grave.

“I had braces until I was fifteen. Even being a born wolf doesn’t come with instant perfection. I enjoyed reading, I still do. And many of the pack loved movies, comics - you name it. As second to Alpha Talia I knew everything I needed to keep the pack happy. Even the trivial things.”

Stiles crinkles his nose a little, it’s an answer, but it’s not the most personal one. That was what Peter had to know, not what he wanted too.

“But did you _like_ it.”

“Well, I still have a cast signed copy of the original Lord of the Rings trilogy in the vault, I believe it’s quite safe to say so.”

Stiles pushed up to stare down at Peter like a guy finding an alien life form.

Peter Hale was a closet nerd wrapped in Gucci and twirling a knife.

“If we get out you have to let me see them.”

Peters lips curl slightly, and Stiles’ gaze drops to watch before he wrenches himself back up and jabs him in the chest.

“Swear it.”

Peter shakes his head and heaves a sigh like the complete drama queen he was.

“Fine.”

“Awesome.” Stiles’ smile turns evil then, drumming his fingers over the thud of the wolfs heart. “Now, what are your thoughts on Sam?”

\---

“Do I really smell like power?”

Stiles asks it after what feels like hours. Maybe it was, he didn’t even know anymore. He’d been tracing the lines on Peters palm to stay sane, listening to the quiet sounds of their breathing.

He’d pretended not to feel the way Peter counted his moles in answer. Some things are better left not pointed out, even he knew that.

Peter huffs a little in answer, moving a little beside Stiles to lift his shoulder in a shrug.

“You do. You always did. Like a spark, something warm and crackling - you think you’re weak because you’re human. As if you can’t change the world by just believing.”

Stiles nods a little, watches as Peter spreads Stiles’ hand and links their fingers together.

“I once made a handful of mountain ash wrap around an entire building just by believing. Pretty sure it was to trap you actually, um, sorry about that.”

Peter grins a little and Stiles can feel it, his own smile splitting over his lips in answer. It was pretty cool, just believing. They’d get out of here, they would. Stiles knew they would, because he and Peter were stubborn and he was pretty sure if they could survive in here they could do anything.

All belief was was a dumb thought and a little dash of hope.

A spark.

“ _Wait_.”

Peter hums in question and Stiles scrambles up from the floor, turning his hands over, eyes wide. “Wait, wait wait-”

He throws himself over to the desk, taking a breath and fiddling with buttons and dials, slapping at the radio as he does.

“That’s it!”

“Stiles?”

Stiles throws a manic grin over his shoulder and he can feel it he _can_ \- it’s pretty crazy okay, to think but he can feel it inside of him, tingling in his palms. That spark, that power - Peter smelt it, he didn’t imagine it all these years. Stiles was a spark and he wasn’t weak and damn it _they were getting the hell out of here._

If this place didn’t run on human laws and human needs then maybe it would work with magic. It had to work with magic.

Damn it _it would work with magic._

The radio crackles to life under jabbing fingers, the dial lighting up, needling swaying frantically and the bust of static is the most beautiful sound on this planet.

“What did you do!”

Peter presses alongside him, catching Stiles excited hands, steadying them, leaning in to check the dials and turning slowly, the static scattering into voices.

Voices. _Help_.

“Stiles, what did you do?”

“I believed dumbass! I’m a spark, it’s what I do!”

The sound of their pack rings through the room, Malia, Scott, his dad - they can hear them, they can hear them and all they had to do was pick up the radio and talk.

He turns to look at Peter with a grin of triumph and what he gets is a mouth covering his, warm hands cupping his face.

Peter Hale was kissing him.

 _What_.

“Brilliant.”

Stiles makes a dizzy little noise of thanks when Peter pulls away with a small smile of pride. And it’s pride in him, holy fuck today - or hour? Non existent time blip? - was insane.

“ _Stiles_.”

“Right. Yeah, yes. Spark. Sparked the radio back to… life. I guess.”

Peter looks amused again, and Stiles falters, wondering when he started looking at him so  fondly.

When did they reach fond?

_When did they reach kissing?_

“You should try talking, see if it works. I don’t what to break the magic, it’s possible me trying could cause complications.”

Stiles nods a little, shakes himself visibly out of his stupor. He’d call wolf boy out on the kissing thing later, rescue now, kissing after.

Not that he meant more kissing after -

Oh, crap. Did he?

“Stiles.”

_Right, radio._

He grabs for the talkie, bringing it up and hitting the button, taking a breath as he looks at Peter.

“Yo, Scotty? Lyds? Dad? Roger, Roger we have a problem huston. Over.”

Peter rolls his eyes at the uncertain babble and the talking cuts off, falling silent and Stiles swears his heart plummets to his ass, checking the dial was still lit, barely breathing as they waited.

And waited.

“Who is this?”

Lydia’s voice rings loud and clear and Stiles could _weep_ in delight.

“Lyds my queen! Thank God, so hey, this is going to sound really crazy but do you know anything about the Wild Hunt?”

There’s a crackle and Stiles figures she’s probably debating if she’s mad. But if him not existing didn’t change much, Lydia should still know she was a banshee, right?

“The Wild Hunt? They take souls if I recall correctly.”

“Kinda-”

“They make it so that people never existed.”

Peters voice is cool over Stiles and he nods, despite her not being able to see, Peter crowding in close in excitement. Stiles reaches for his hand, and this time it finds his half way.

“- and we need your help getting out of the storm.”

\---

Lydia took some convincing, but the more Stiles talked, about Allison, about everything that happened with all of them the more she realized the holes, the missing pieces. And she tracks down his jeep sitting abandoned by the woods.

Stiles almost gripped the keys so hard he drew blood. She was there, Rosco never failed him. He laughs when Peter mutters that he loves that ugly jeep, punches lightly at the wolfs shoulder and grips the radio like a lifeline.

Then she tells them they’ve been gone for three months and Stiles feels the air punch from his chest.

Three months without them, and no one noticed. At least Lydia sounded guilty when she said it, and she would talk to the pack she swore it.

Stiles pushes the radio back into place because night has fallen outside the station, and they couldn’t keep Lydia awake if she’d be any help. The dim light from the screen fills the room in a warm blue, and it’s his favourite fucking colour now.

The thrum of ecstatic, vibrating, wild energy dies down after a short while. They were getting there, they were getting out. They would, with both sides working together they’d break the wall.

And he and Peter would go home, things would go back to normal.

Would they remember _this_?

Stiles looks over to the wolf who seemed to be coming to a similar sort of realization, face carefully impassive in that mask he’d worn _three months ago._ Back when they were nothing more than frenemies thrown into the deep end.

“Dude don’t do that.”

The words leave him in a rush and Stiles clamps his mouth shut after, ignoring the ugly blotchy blush he knew would be spreading over his cheeks.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You have that look.”

“That would be called my face, Stiles.”

Stiles groans, stepping closer to the wolf. If Lydia could find the information they need, if they were going to get out of here - _when_ they did get out of here. He kind of wanted to know if the kiss was just like an adrenaline high, or something.

That they were on the same page.

Because apparently he was on a page that was _something_ , a feelings something.

Three months is a very long time.

“When we get out, things are going to be different.”

Peters brows draw and Stiles feels him doing that tense things again, closing off. He couldn’t believe they hadn’t noticed it before, the way a cocky smile hid all of this. But he was seeing it now, Peter saw him now. And Stiles didn't want to be in the dark again.

“Because you - you and me we’re going to meet up for dinner. Sometime. Definitely pretty soon, once I’m sure my dad is okay.”

The words are jittery. There was still the chance Stiles could be wrong and maybe they were making promises they couldn’t keep right now. But fuck, they were on a station on a magical cloud, that evaded all time and was led by zombie cowboy slingers.

At this point, reality could kiss his ass. Peter _was_ his real, his pack was his real. And when he went back to his dad, to scotty, to his pack and his home - his real was coming with him.

Even if he had to drag him by his tail.

“You have to pay though because that’s only fair.”

Peter looks at him incredulously and Stiles maybe feels a _tiny_ bit satisfied at cracking the mask and dragging out the feelings under the cool exterior. Stilinski hugs, they changed everything. Even stubborn wolves.

Which means Stilinski kisses were probably fucking crazy powerful. And Peter had stolen one, so now he had to pay for it. It was weak logic, maybe, but it was funny to see Peters face as he realized what Stiles was suggesting.

Stiles could pretend he wasn’t freaking out himself, just because Peter failing to not show he was freaking out was so much better.

“Why do I have to pay? I can cook you know, as can you. I suggest we break the mold and enjoy something homemade.”

“What am I not worth the shell out? No high dining for Stiles huh? Gonna hold out on me? I’ll eat caviar and then what will you do? You think we kissed so now you get to be a cheap fu-”

Peter steals _two_ Stilinski kisses that non-existent hour. And Stiles? Stiles is pretty okay with it.

\---

It feels like forever that the radio is silent, and maybe Stiles is terrible for thinking it - but the time spent isn’t that bad, curled up on the floor snickering as Peter sighed through tales of his childhood and Stiles reenacted the wild Adventures of a young Stilinski and McCall.

It was pretty fun actually, no big bad in that moment, the station blocked behind blinds. Their own little bubble. And they both know something is coming, however they have to get out, it’s coming - but it just makes the slow drags out mouths a little easier to get lost in.

And Stiles does get lost, the rasp of stubble on his skin, the heat of Peter pressing close.

Peter is a good kisser, fucking fantastic actually - leaving Stiles unable to breathe as heat laces through him and every time the wolf pulls away he chases it, gripping the back of his neck, pulling him back in.

It feels good, it feels really good. Stiles hasn’t felt this good in years.

Okay, maybe it’s fucked up that his good is here, with Peter Hale, in the forgotten place but damn it he’s allowed good things. Right? Sometimes?

Or maybe he was selfish and took them, but right now he didn’t care, wrapped up in heat. In good things. Like the feeling of Peter under him, or the taste of him on his tongue - he won't ask why they don’t have unbrushed teeth breath, he’s just gonna appreciate it - and the feeling of Peter making the sweetest sounds under his lips.

Is this the time to get turned on? Maybe not. But then Stiles is probably entitled to one or two bad dick choices, especially given everything.

He kind of surprises himself by being the one to move Peter’s hand from his hips to his ass, and he ignores the low rumble of laughter in favour of kissing again, a tiny bit more eagerly.

If someone had told him three months ago that this would be where he would end up - straddling Peter Hale in a magical timeless station, kissing him like the guy was all he needed - he might have hit them with his bat.

Stiles would hit his past self with a bat for all those perfect opportunity to admire shirtless Peter chained up that he pathetically wasted.

Peter makes sure he doesn’t need to mourn, hands gripping at Stiles’ ass, squeezing in a way that makes him gasp against lips, moaning lightly in delight. Okay so, maybe Stiles liked a tiny bit of roughness, maybe he wanted to feel the strength in hands he trusted move him.

When they got out they would definitely explore this more.

Stiles pushes his hands under Peters shirt and rolls his hips, pressing down to the thickness under him and grins when it would appear that a certain wolf liked where this was going.

“Is that a molotov in your pants? Or are you just happy to see me.”

Peter growls low and Stiles shudders at the way it curls through him, raking his nails over the lines of Peter’s abs, knowing the red lines wouldn’t last but still determined to leave his mark, biting lightly at the wolfs lip as he rocks back again - he’d be embarrassed by the breathy sound he makes if he wasn’t so distracted.

“We need to have a talk about your macabre sense of humour.”

“Unless the talk is dirty and includes mention of A - marking, or B - fucking me, it can _wait_.”

Peter rolls them then, and Stiles claws at shoulders, arching as the man drags his hips over him and a way that’s fucking _filthy_.

“You like dirty talk Stiles?”

Oh boy, he might have outed himself there, cock throbbing as Peter starts grinding down, both of them moving against each other. The rasp of jeans, the tremble of his thighs as he curls his legs about the wolfs hips and urges him on.

“I like _talking_ that should be - holy fuck - that should be obvious big guy.”

He flushes at the moan he gives, but Peter is rolling his hips like he’s been waiting for this and Stiles isn’t about to stop him, hell no he is not. Rocking up to meet them and dropping his head back when a mouth drags over his throat.

There’s that little voice again, saying he should be afraid when teeth drag over his pulse - sharper than they should be, pointed fangs. Peter could kill him, and Stiles whines when they press down, working a dark bruise into his skin he know won't go away for days.

He drags his nails down Peters back in answer, and the wolf snarls.

“I’m well aware, and I do love hearing your voice. You make the prettiest little noises like this, sweet thing.”

Stiles does his best not to preen, praise kink be damned, but Peter is saying all the right things and he’s given up on keeping his eyes closed, squeezing them shut to ride the wave of arousal. He’s all but leaking in his jeans, the rasp of a tongue on his skin leaving him fisting at Peters shirt and demanding more.

“I knew you’d be like this, always so demanding. You never know when to quit.”

Well, he was right about that and Stiles writhes under him, hand pushing up from strong shoulder to grip roughly at short hair, holding Peter to his throat, wanting and wanting -

This was messy, this was messy and desperate, sweat clinging to their skin, not even bothering to undress just chasing their highs as Peter purred by his ear that Stiles was perfect like this.

Stiles was going to cum, the asshole was dragging him right to the edge and he’d get him back for this. Stiles saw how Peter watched his mouth - he’d definitely get him back and make him cum first next time.

“ _Please-_ ”

Peter grins sharp against him, rocks a little harder, a little faster and Stiles feels like he can’t breathe, can’t think about anything but Peter fucking Hale and the way he felt grinding their cocks together and moaning in that same rough, low voice.

Holy balls this was the best sex of his life and they weren’t even fucking, that’s a little tragic, but also very promising.

“You want me to fuck you? Or do you want me to mount you and _mate_ you?”

And that’s that, goodbye Stiles he has seen the face of paradise and he shall insult Peter no more, thighs vice tight as he bucks, pulling hard on hair - crying out and spilling into his jeans, hot, shaking apart under a greedy mouth and heavy hands.

If Peter makes one joke, one joke about cumming like teens he’d kill him. That shit was for fanfiction, not the afterglow.

He pulls the wolfs head back as Peter ruts against him, hips stuttering and Stiles could guess he was about to cum. Feel it in the heat of him, the way his breath was catching on snarls, and Peter was half shifted as Stiles takes in the sight.

Perfect Peter Hale, hair messy, cheeks flushed - blue eyes glowing just because of Stiles.

Now _that_ was a ego boost.

Stiles wonders vaguely if Peter would look just like that on his back being fucked too. Definitely a thought to think more on later.

“Come on then.”

The words are a broken moan and Stiles continues rolling his hips, despite being sensitive, despite everything he wanted Peter to break just as much as he did.

It was kind of a rash choice, an educated guess. Or a really stupid idea, but Stiles is a little endorphin high and not thinking much as he leans up, holds Peters head back - Peter _letting_ _him_ hold his head back - and sinks his teeth deep.

Peter cums to being bitten, carves claw marks into the floor by Stiles’ shoulders and Stiles is never, ever letting him live it down.

\---

Thankfully the radio sounds after the whole world turning revelation that he kind of liked Peter Hale. And the sex thing, the sex thing was good.

They’d already cleaned up - turns out cleaning up in a station like this is a questionable affair, R.I.P hoodie you will be missed - when Lydia’s voice sounds through the device, yellow flaring for a moment before Stiles and Peter get to it, grabbing for the radio.

“Stiles? Peter?”

“Lyds! Oh damn, it is good to hear from you. You have any news?”

There’s a crackle for a moment and Peters arm comes around his waist as Stiles glances to the dial - there should be an immediate response right? Why the delay -

“Stiles?”

Dad?

“ _Dad_!”

“Jesus, thought you were kidding Martin, I uh. Hi, Stiles.”

“How-”

Stiles doesn’t even realize his hands are shaking under Peters cover them, holding the radio with him, Swallowing hard as he tries to hold himself. His Dad was okay, he was alive he was - he was okay.

“Some sort of seance, apparently. Wasn’t sure it would work, but uh. Yeah, we’re here, Scott, Lydia, Me. Malia insisted on listening too, somethin’ about her Dad.”

There’s a chorus of voices then, and Stiles looks to Peter with a grin when the wolf stares at the radio in a shell shocked kind of silence.

“Lydia says you’re with some guy, Peter. He a good guy?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah he is - Dad, what do you remember?”

The crackle makes his hands tighten, heart hammering hard in his chest.

“I’ll be honest with you kid. We don’t remember a lot. But, we remember holes. Missing pieces, seems the Wild Hunt is still cleaning up, not everything is gone just yet. Your mums jeep- we think you’re telling the truth. And we think we know what’s keeping them here. We just need to find a way to end it, bring you guys back.”

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, clears his throat, tries to ignore the ache in his chest. They’d forgotten, they’d forgotten them for _months_. But they’d noticed, they were noticing now and that - that was a start.

“We are, we definitely are telling the truth. The Wild Hunt they - we need to get out. We’re stuck in a station, time doesn’t move, we don’t need to eat and I think, I think if we don’t get out, we all join the hunt in the end.”

Peter nods a little. It’s something they’d talked about, laying on the floor together. What would happen to them here, if they’d forget, if they’d starve the more they fight it. But Stiles knew that they were kept here for a reason, and Peter commented that no matter how many get fought the Riders don’t seem to end.

It had been a terrifying thing to realize, wrapped tighter on the floor. They got out, or they would end up just like the platform goers. Just like the Riders.

Peter had too pretty a face to become a Rider, it’s - it’s just not something he wants to think about.

“Then we get you out! We’ll figure it out! We’ll work to remember everything, and then when you come back it’ll be fine.”

Stiles grins a little at the sound of Scotts voice. And yeah, he was an asshole, and sometimes he forgot Stiles existed, but he was _Stiles’_ asshole and talking with Peter, remembering all the times before the big bads of their lives - there was a chance for the pack to get better. If Peter and Stiles could learn to get on, the rest of them could learn to buck up their ideas too. And that little bit of hope was enough for now.

Peter drums his fingers over Stiles’ hip, and he holds the button to reply.

“What do we know so far?”

\---

“Stiles.”

He looks back to Peter as he pulls his plaid back on, tugging it to his hips in determination. They were getting out, they were getting out no matter what. And it was happening now.

The Ghost Riders, they would come and drop off another soul soon. Sneaky guys make people forget they ever saw them, make them forget whatever way they saw them come in. But he and Peter? They weren’t mindless zombies anymore, and they weren't going to fucking forget.

“ _Stiles_ , look at me.”

He turns at the snap in the wolf's voice, fumbling with grabbing his keys from the desk. It had been quiet since the radio call ended. Both of them moving to pack up the room that they’d - their room. For three months, _their_ little hide away. And maybe it had been something heartbreaking, maybe they were both a little terrified.

But they were doing it. Because they had to, and no matter what happened after they’d figure it out, they _would_. And if Peter forgot him, or if Stiles forgot Peter then.. They’d just have to remind each other.

“What? Come on sarcasm wolf don’t get sappy on me, we need to go.”

“Stiles, as much as I adore and am mildly aroused by the macho man action act-”

Okay, maybe his lips twitch a little bit at that. Stupid Peter.

“-Before we leave, I want to thank you.”

Now _that_ was a surprise. Peter looks like it pains him a little to say it, and Stiles snorts because Peter looks how Stiles feels. Wondering how the hell they ended up here.

Well, he actually knew how now. Peter had an Alpha boner for the way Stiles smelt and couldn’t keep his fangs to himself, but that’s not the point right now.

“You can thank me when we’re back on earth and time exists again, bud.”

He heads for the door, just to get dragged back in and huh. Stubborn wolf. Wasn’t that Stiles’ gig? Peter’s meant to be the one who gives vague one liners and leaves, not the one insisting on talking.

“If we get out-”

“When.”

“ _-When_ we get out, can you promise me something?”

Stiles squints at Peter then, and he has to take a moment to realize he’s not looking up. Because they’re the same height now, because things were different and he wasn’t some boy trying to keep up with wolves and Peter wasn’t some monster chasing them.

“I uh, I guess?”

He blinks when a jacket drapes over his shoulders, pushing his arms into it without thinking. That same weight around him after the nightmare, the expensive fabric warm and heavy. Stiles wasn’t giving this back now that he thinks about it. This was his now.

But the words are loud and clear, even if neither of them say it.

_Don’t forget me._

Stiles fumbles to reach into his jeans, pulling out beat up keys, looking for a moment at a warn batman signal keyring and the faded digits of his Dad’s work number.

Taking Peters hand feels weirdly like some sort of suspicious soul bond but right now, they both need it. That promise, that reminder. They both need it.

Peters hands close around the keys and Stiles smiles a little, grabbing for the back of his neck, pulling Peter in to kiss him. One last kiss, maybe. Or two. Two last kisses.

“Silly wolf. I promise.”

Peter hums a little but he does give a fleeting smile, and Stiles for the sake of his ego - just this once - pretends not to notice how Peter grips tighter at the keys in hand.

“Then let's go, shall we? I believe we have a train to catch.”

\---

The plan was simple. The Riders made people forget, and as long as Peter and Stiles kept them in line of sight they wouldn’t. Theoretically.

Keep an eye on the Riders, throw one of the ugly bastards off of a horse, climb on and ride the hell through whatever demonic gateway they came in.

Simple.

Maybe.

Whilst they were battling Ghost Riders and stealing undead horses the pack would be working on connecting threads, remembering Stiles and Peter. They were going to catch a Ghost Rider - Stiles had spluttered in _how_ at that - and take his weapons, since they should work on the other Riders, right?

Peter had looked skeptical, Stiles had probably worn the same expression but honestly it was one of Scotty’s better plans. And it was Dad approved, though he had a feeling that was just because Dad wanted to fire outlaw guns.

There had been mention of a lightning rod.

At this point, Stiles could only trust his pack whilst he and Peter worked on their side. And hope to all things above and beyond that they didn’t _die on the horse._

So they wait.

Pressed together behind the pillar, back to brick. It’s quiet, so quiet and Peter’s hand in his is gripping tight. But they’d get out, they would because the Pack was _remembering_ , and whatever bought the Ghost Riders to town was going to have hell to pay.

The sound of pounding hooves accompanies the thought, and Stiles straightens his shoulders, squeezes Peter’s hand and believes as hard as he’s capable of.

Peter launches from behind the pillar and snarls as slaws uncurl and go right for flesh - do they have flesh? Does it count as flesh? - the horses rear as the Riders raise their weapons.

Stiles only has a pole of metal Peter ripped from a pillar for him, and he misses his bat, but this will do _just fine._

He gets a satisfying crunch when he swings it down onto the head of the Rider as he falls from the horse at Peters attack. Asshole.

“ _Get on!_ ”

He shakes the blood from his bat and grabs for the hand held out to him. Battles were always so hectic, but Peter was fast and he was gripping the horses reins, pulling Stiles on behind him.

The station is shaking as Stiles reaches one hand forward, palms tingling to grab at Peters hips and holds the pipe in his other hand, shouting for him to floor it.

He wonders if the pack remembered him yet, if they remembered Peter. If they’d make it through the - holy shit thats a glowing green portal, this is some gaming logic _bullshit_.

Stiles grips tighter at Peter, squeezes his eyes shut and believes in his pack, believes in Peter, believes in _them_.

The green portal of doom reaches forward, and it’s the weirdest sensation of being dragged through a tunnel at high winds.

This must be how dirt feels in a vacuum.

\---

They burst out onto tracks. A stop for cargo, not a station but not .. not a station. He needed to work on his train lingo, for now though he’s breathing hard, feeling like he just got punched in the chest. Every part of him is aching, his skin is on fire but there’s no time for that now because it’s _chaos_ around them.

His Dad is shooting at Ghost Riders, Scotty is being pinned by two of them and Lydia is - using a sound wave. Like, an actual sound wave made of her scream.

They’d been gone a while.

“Dad!”

Stiles hops off the horse and whirls about, that wasn’t him, who else’s Dad was fighting on the - Right. Malia. Holy shit she called Peter Dad, now there’s some character development!

Peter is already making a beeline for the coyote being half choked by a Ghost Rider and Stiles grips his pole tighter.

Peter could handle himself. He could, he had for years and now was not the time to get all mother hen on him.

Instead he swings the pole right at the Rider aiming for his Dad, some horrible part of him pleased by the crunch and burst of blood as the body stumbles, shot down by his Dad and Stiles grins when the Sheriff holds his guns up away from Stiles, swearing like a sailor.

“Mieczyslaw!”

“Dad, don’t call me that!”

He’s cut off from his whine by arms gripping tight at him, and he grabs right back, breathing hard as his Dad presses a kiss to his temple.

“We missed you.”

Stiles barely gets a swallow before good old Scotty ruins the moment with a hoarse shout for help, and they’re back into the frey. He grabs for the fallen ghost riders guns, tosses one to his Dad who squints at him with the other.

“Just this once. You’re allowed to use that _just this once!”_

His Dad jabs a finger at him and races off to help the others, Stiles grins a little, lifts the gun - steadies his breathing, presses his finger over the trigger as he lines up - and fires through the ugly guys head.

Sheriffs kid. He _knew_ how to handle guns.

“Stiles!”

Scott grins like a damn puppy as he pushes up, accepting Stiles’ hand to haul him from the ground. There isn’t much time for I missed you but Scott does get a half armed hug in.

And then a sound of gurgling comes from behind them, and they spin about to see Peter choking a Rider with the whip that must have been around Malia.

Stiles would say it.

It was _hot_.

“Did you find what’s keeping them here? Because now would be a wonderful time to speak up if so.”

That’s his Peter, blunt as hell.

“Oh! Right, yeah, yeah - Douglas!”

“Douglas?!”

Stiles and Peter look at Scott in disbelief - really, their bad guy was called _Douglas_? - as the Alpha makes a beeline further down the tracks.

“Nazi!”

“A fucking na- are you serious!?”

Nazi’s. Nazi’s and Ghost Riders and now he was dating - probably dating? Are they officially dating? To be discussed - Peter Hale. This was the life of Stiles Stilinski.

Let it not be said he lived in boredom.

Peter grabs his hand and drags him forward and Stiles grips the gun to follow.

\---

In the end Douglas turns in a Ghost Rider, and the Wild Hunt packs up and walks off like they didn’t just ruin all their lives, turn everything upside down and almost destroy an entire town.

Such is the life of unstoppable forces of nature, you know? No time for this fancy pantsy human nonsense.

They had a lot to catch up on, in the end it turns out it had been _Four_ _months_. A month passing since that first Radio contact. Four months he and Peter had been alone on that station and as Miss McCall cleans the cuts on his arms and slathers cream over the slight burning from being dragged back to the real world - Stiles forgets how to breathe.

His Mom had been there. Dragged to reality by his Dad’s desperate need for someone, trying to fill the hole of Stiles with a fake image of Claudia. Stiles had to face her down, knowing that his Dad couldn’t bear to be alone and that his Dad had given up the memory of his Mom to bring him back.

The pack, in fighting to remember, had opened the breach for he and Peter to come through. They’d have been turned to crispy pancakes if they’d gone through with no one remembering. With no memories to tie them to earth.

“Deep breaths buddy.”

Scotts voice filters through the panic, and Miss McCall gives him a bag to breathe into, but it’s not the same. And some part of him twists in annoyance that along the way Peters hand in his became a comfort, that along the way his voice became an anchor.

Stupid wolf, making Stiles feel stupid feelings.

He was definitely hocking up for a fancy dinner.

“I’m fine."

The words aren’t fine, dragged through rattling lungs, focusing on counting, on the tick of the clock on the room wall. Scotts hand soothes over his back and Miss McCall gives him a light hug before heading to the door.

Oh no, this was going to be a Scott McCall therapy session.

“Scott-”

“I’m so sorry, Stiles.”

Okay. Maybe he’d panic attacked himself into a stupor or something, staring at Scott with a mild hint of suspicion. Real Scott or not Real Scott, that’s the question.

“I’m sorry that we forgot you. All of us, we talked it through and stuff, whilst you were getting checked out and - yeah I’m... We’ve been really crappy too you, huh?”

Stiles shrugs a little, focuses on breathing slowly. Sure, but it was a pretty crappy situation.

“When I was remembering, putting together strings - which, I half want to know why your room looks like an FBI office room, your Dad was really impressed though - I realized that uh, that you do a lot for us. For us all. For me.”

“You do a lot for us too, Scott.”

The words are a break and Scott shakes his head.

Total puppy. The lot of them were puppies.

“No! You don’t get it, Stiles, we haven’t hung out in months. Before the station thing. We haven’t had bro time in like, a year. And that’s me. That’s me - not doing that.”

Stiles’ mouth twists down, and he chooses not to say anything about that.

“We have shit lives Scotty boy, look around you. I was just taken by gun slinging zombie ghosts! Pretty sure I can let you off the hook for forgetting a few gaming sessions.”

“You do that a lot, put yourself last, _stop it_.”

Stiles can’t help the indignant sound he lets out when Scott shoves at his shoulder and tuts his tongue like a annoyed mom.

“When you feel better we should hang out. All of us, like, as a pack.”

“A pack.”

Stiles peers skeptically at the Alpha, who bobs his head in determination. He had that look on his face. The ‘I have made my choice and shant be swayed’ look. _Huh_.

“We go off to college soon! Well, you and Lydia definitely will. And we don’t want all the memories of being together to be blood and death and doom.”

He could agree with that.

“So we’re going to hang out, okay? All of us. And we’re going to do stuff we all like, something different every week. We’ll be a proper pack.”

Stiles is smiling, maybe, just a little. That did sound good, a proper pack. But he knew Scott, and he knew Scott's definition of “all of us” so Stiles straightens up, and turns to look to his best friend seriously. If Scotty couldn’t agree, then there was no proper pack.

“All of us. Derek, we’ll invite Cora, Dad and your Mom - and Peter too.”

Scott falters a little at that, and Stiles narrows his eyes. He knew Scott knew something was going on with them, he’d be pretty blind not too. Blind even by Scotts standards. And Stiles had made a promise, he doesn’t break his promises.

“ _All of us_. Scott.”

There’s a crinkle of nose, but Scott just groans, a stupidly dramatic thing and Stiles knows he’s agreed, grinning when his best friend throws his hands in the air.

“Fine! All of us, even Derek and Peter. You better not do any weird - just - don’t be gross around me.”

“What? Me? _Gross_? How dare you, I am an 18 year old, healthy male, I would never be Gross. I was just going to get on my knees and suck his di-”

Scott slaps a hand over Stiles’ mouth, covering laughter with a half-hearted growl.

“You guys are both _disgusting_.”

“Yes, well, that would make us quite the perfect match. Wouldn’t it?”

Scott jumps half a mile at the sound of a third voice, which is funny since he’s the one with super hearing - but Stiles just turns to Peter, knowing the wolf had heard everything. Not really ashamed of it.

Look at him, really, anyone ashamed of tapping Peter Hale needed to reevaluate their life choices.

There’s a tense moment of eye contact between Scott and Peter and Stiles ignores the wolfy posturing in favour of hopping off of the hospital bed, groaning as parts of him he didn’t know could ache ached.

“Put it away boys, you’re _both_ beautiful.”

He makes his way to the door, reaching out to link his fingers with Peters. It feels right, the rough hand in his and out of habit he drags his thumb over skin. Five hands, cocky smile, warm lips. Real Peter, Real Stiles.

Home.

Stiles pulls back from kissing him to stick his tongue out at Scotts fake retching sounds.

“Come on, I’m dying for some curly fries.”

Peter raises an eyebrow and Stiles looks to him expectantly.

“I suppose feeding you will be a common thing now.”

“ _Yup_.”

Stiles pops the P, just to really drive the point home. They had a lot to talk about, a lot to figure out. It wouldn’t be easy, not by a long shot. But that’s pretty much a given with his life.

Peter rolls his eyes and tugs him to the hallway only to find Stiles’ Dad waiting at the end with two bags of - yes! Mo’s curly fries! The best Dad ever, God he could almost taste them-

At least he was the best Dad ever, until he flashes the gun at his hip, gives a shit eating ‘interrogation mode’ smile and looks right at Peter.

“Mr Hale! I’m sure you won't mind joining my son and I for dinner?”

_Yeah, he was definitely back home._


End file.
